


Quartered

by moonsofceres



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Casual Sex, Chapter Two love scene a mixture of explicit and implied detail, Deadlock Jesse McCree, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingering, Kindred Criminal Pervy Spirits, M/M, NSFW, Oral Sex, Penetration, Pre-Overwatch, Smoking, Smut, Stakeout, Underage Smoking, Young Hanzo Shimada, Young Jesse McCree, Young Jesse McCree/Young Hanzo Shimada, and two of them are falling in love, characters are of legal age when explicit material begins, everyone's a criminal, first chapter rated M, gun mention, murder mention, young mchanzo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 17:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21085244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsofceres/pseuds/moonsofceres
Summary: They were like wildflowers.





	1. Mentzelia involucrata

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted in 2017, but was removed for reasons of privacy while deciding on a new username.

The air in the desert was warm, but the heat was no stranger to him. He had known heat in his homeland, a certain guest at the height of summer, and in the surrounding locations he had travelled to. It was the air in the desert that felt distinctly different, lacking in all movement or moisture. The kind that sweat could not cool, once combined with the slow bake of the heat.

Here, his sweat only served to bind dark strands of hair to the nape of his neck, leading him to reach up and guide fingers through them from time to time. As he did so, other strands came free from their tie between clothed shoulder blades, away from the black mass gathered beneath his neck and into the path of his roaming eyes.

The heat flaked off the rock faces and mountains towered overhead, a thin blanket that would surely suffocate the desert canyons if there was anything left to draw from them. The road curved lazily alongside the cliff edge, scraped out of red chalk without regard for the rocks close below, the complete drop to certain death below them. A stretch of earth flattened by decades of transport, but to no obvious benefit to the small, seemingly desolate town that hosted it.

He had walked along many roads in the previous year, observing such differences to the places he knew. Route 66 was the first road he had walked alone. The red chalk built upon itself between his toes, caught in the violent thud of his heel on sandal sole. No person he knew would have recommended this choice of attire for the present conditions. But it was late at night in strange desert lands, at a time where such a recommendation would have meant quite little to Shimada Hanzo.

The rock face curved ahead of his path, revealing the slow funnel of hoverbikes through a gas station. To his left revealed a small tunnel cut through the rock, a path which Hanzo followed. His breath was calm despite the dry heat, he noted, air rising steadily through his abdomen, solar plexus, throat. Oxygen entering his blood, to be expelled as carbon dioxide from his throat, solar plexus, abdomen. His hands did not tremble as fingertips trailed along the foreign walls of the tunnel, cool eyes observing the red dust on the pads as he re-entered the desert night.

The red valley opened to reveal a few spots cut out of the rock face, an auto shop, a bar. He noted the differences to the places he knew: stifling heat, unstifled conversations, the mere fact that a few people were congregating so late at night. The similarities, much fewer: thugs. They presented differently but Hanzo knew a henchman when we saw one, in the desert or otherwise. The overt attempts at idle intimidation, meaning to appear threatening whilst quite obviously having no objective whatsoever. No immediate goal beyond loitering, smoking cigarettes and harassing the few local women as they went about their business.

Hanzo had no business with the local gangsters. They met him with vague snarls that he had no intention of responding to, and yet he still returned a sneer as he walked past. His head kept raised and held steady, successfully ignoring their muttered remarks between themselves. These thugs were clearly aware of how different to them he was, but possessed neither the brains nor brawn to do anything further with the knowledge. 

The bar they clustered around did not seem remarkable – the laughter coming from inside was varied yet boisterous, the music seemed to be little more than the rapid, arbitrary twanging of an untuned guitar. As the front door opened beside him, a drabbled plume of smoke ascended away from them all. As he watched it he wondered, perhaps it had escaped.

He had not intended to look inside, but the interior caught his attention regardless. The bar appeared to have been assembled with mismatched parts, remnants of old haunts spared from the grave, or perhaps bought back to serve another life. It was startling to Hanzo. Even in the strangest corners of his travels, he had yet to see a place so lacking in order as this.

Between the cracked remnant half of a dart board and the sleek green felt of the newer looking billiard table, a figure stood by a garish machine. A game of some sorts, even further detached from the rest of the décor. Its internal cabin was lit by a flickering light, illuminating a collection of plush toys and other assorted items. The bottom layer comprised of soft plump toys, providing a platform to host all other sorts of trinkets, an archaeological dig for children of limited attention or interest. Or a last-ditch effort to lure people to use the machine, perhaps. Above the treasures and junk, a single claw could be seen heaving from left to right, lowering with a shudder. Yet despite its short comings the figure remained, feeding the machine another coin.

Hanzo did not consider the fact that he was too young to enter such a place. Rather, as the door closed before him he pushed it open again, regaining his vision of the bar and its occupants briefly to invite himself inside. The rest of his observations of the desert town had mostly lined up with what he had learnt of this country, the similarities, the differences. But not quite the junk, the claw or the man in dark clothing that wielded it.

He wore an old leather jacket, cracked and worn in to a shape that was not quite his. On the back, the leering face of a skull had been applied, recently by the looks of it. Its hollow jaw held a lock in its grasp, matching the symbol that was spray-painted on the wall beside them. The paint had even caught some of the stencils outline, reflecting the same level of care and precision that had been given to its surroundings. 

He was not a man, he observed, or at least no more than Hanzo was. It was easy to assume he was from first glance, as his height surpassed some of the elder, grizzlier men and women around them. A closer look indicated the rest of his person had not yet caught up with him, his figure not yet filling out the size of the clothing required to cover his length.

His large form was partially bent at the waist, right forearm rested on the game console and one leg slightly bent. An attempt at finding balance between comfort and longevity at the machine, one that allowed his clothes to fold around his lanky figure in awkward ways, setting him apart from the haggard gang members in his keep.

Clusters of brown strands fell forward to frame his face, the faint sheen of grease reflecting from a slight indentation that circled his head. Their length did not reflect style in any way, more likely an attempt at avoiding style or simple disregard for it. From between them Hanzo saw the reflection of light off metal pieces in his nose, and caught a glimpse of his eyes following the movements inside the machine. Seemingly oblivious to the wasteland around him, yet distinctly a part of it all the same. 

The boys’ leather clad arm moved smoothly, guiding the lever that told the claw to move, although it copied none of his calm movement. It shuddered to the right, creaking in its bearings before suddenly jerking downwards, dropping on to the pit of junk. The metal arms seemed to protest, and yet Hanzo watched as it rose with a prize in its grasp, guided carefully across to be deposited in to the hollow chute. Which was where it suddenly sprung free, bouncing off the edge of the chute walls and tumbling back to the freedom of its prison.

Emboldened by his solo late night adventure, this outcome pricked his curiosity. It was far removed from the activities his attentions were usually reserved for, and without any consideration he stepped closer, inviting himself to stand beside the claws wielder. From the corner of his vision he saw two brown eyes briefly regard him, his figure straightening some to acknowledge the company in his presence.

“Hola” the boy said, and when he didn’t receive a response he looked back to the machine. Eyes veiled once again by the dark hair with the sheen of oil before scooping up another coin and slotting it into the steel contraption.

With movements that seemed familiar to their owner, the metal clasp jerked through the air, coming to a stop only briefly before plunging once more. This time Hanzo’s eyes moved to the boy’s hands, the alcove between thumb and forefinger navigating a white plastic joystick, his other digits directing its start and stops. Both hands were host to patches of dirt and mechanical grease, breaking up otherwise smooth, tanned skin.

It was only when the claw flew upwards again that Hanzo’s attention returned to it, following its path back across the cabin… where again it suddenly dropped, falling away from its mark once again and back to its junk brethren.

“You are losing intentionally” Hanzo said, surprise evident in his voice. What was also evident were the many lessons in solemnity and sternness imparted to him in the previous years, some of which were beginning to take. But none of which had quite overridden the amusement and confusion at the bizarre events recurring in front of him.

This time the boy did turn to face him, eyes meeting Hanzo’s as the corners of his lips pulled into what was surely part of a charming smile. His eyes continued past Hanzo, revealing two rings and a chain from his ear with the movement, looking around them to assess his current situation. He did not appear to conceal the action, yet was subtle in its undertaking. An action that was necessary to him, it seemed, yet not one performed out of disrespect or overt suspicion. 

“Nah, this thing is rigged. No doubt about that” came his response, and yet he slid another coin into the machine nonetheless, his eyes not leaving Hanzo until a few seconds in to this attempt. It was then that Hanzo noticed the slight awkwardness in the boy’s posture, lankiness aside, the way he held himself against yet away from the machine. Tucked into that leather somewhere was most likely a weapon, one that was even less of a natural fit than the jacket.

The claw failed to secure a target on the first attempt, collected on the second yet still did not deliver anything to them. The more Hanzo watched, the less inclined he was to fully believe the reason the person beside him offered. Despite his awkward casual stance his hands moved purposefully, considered actions seeming to account for the shortcomings of the machine yet failing to them nonetheless.

“I killed a man today. The first.”

There was no amusement in Hanzo’s words this time, nor sternness or solemnity. Instead, the remark was more of an announcement, a statement of fact like a child might offer. Which was not greatly far from the truth of the matter.

Jesse McCree was not one to ask questions he didn’t much want an answer to, and so had left the finer details of the outsider’s presence go unspoken. At this remark he turned his head once more, his upper body following. Hands maintaining their vigil as he regarded the smaller person, the sleek ponytail that had slid down and was secured far lower than was practical. 

He wasn’t greatly inclined to follow the rules of social interaction, and yet it dawned on him that he had left the statement hang in the air for a moment too long. While he didn’t perfectly understand the words that were said, he comprehended the message enough.

“They let you wear that skirt after killing a man?” Jesse asked, and after a brief time of evident confused, the smaller boys eyes appeared to darken. Where his face had been somewhat soft in appearance before, carrying the undignified baggage of adolescence, sharp lines drew in his features to reveal the pointed tips of cheekbones by his temples. They were surrounded by the scourge of the desert, yet it was at this expression that Jesse recoiled slightly.

“I would like to _see them_ try to stop me”.

It was only then that Jesse registered the possible alternative to his words. Not something he had to do very often, given his line of industry and the small circle of folk types that seemed to come with it. Yet he fought the urge to shy away from the sudden threat, clearing his throat and more carefully considering his next words.

“My mother wore one similar. I think she maybe killed a man or two.”

This time Hanzo paused in consideration, and his features eased. His gaze returned to the machine.

“Once you have killed a man, you may wear a full dress. They are far more formidable.”

Jesse could not have provided a precise definition for the word so quickly returned, yet he stifled most of a snort in response. Understanding enough to process both the humour and the fact of the matter.  
“Oh, alright” he acknowledged, before he too turned back to the machine, fetching in his pocket for more errant coins to waste and stacking a few on the console.

It was just as he began maneuvering the claw that the pale fellow spoke, “capture that one,” pointing to the left of centre inside the cabin. Were the timing of his demand not so ill considered, Jesse may have been confused as to which item caught his interest. Yet considering the strange circumstances, he was certain the item he wanted was the thin slip of plastic, housing several fabric patches; the smallest item that could be seen.

Fledgling reflexes kicked in and he moved, his hand guiding the lever with increased momentum to make up for the time already lost. He managed to clasp the very corner of the plastic and grinned as it rose into the air. But it was too late. The cheerful, lifeless eyes of a two-dimensional Pachimari bid him farewell as it fell back into the pit, and into an even more perilous position than before. Slotting neatly between an oversized coyote and a sickly looking yellow bird.

“How about I show you?” Jesse offered in counter, and those wild eyes threatened to ignite once more. This time paired with the slightest curling at the corner of thin lips; the beginnings of a smirk.

“You cannot do it.”

Grinning in response, almost demurely, the larger boy held out his hands, hovering above the console before unfolding towards the ceiling, palms opened in an inviting gesture. 

“Some things are better with friends.”

The statement was met with an incredulous gaze, yet after a few beats the smaller one complied, mirroring the placement of his hands to what he had seen the darker boy do. The stranger’s fingers covered his own, and while an integral part of his behaviourial rearing had stressed the importance of cleanliness, he noticed only the care taken in the touch, the soft and the warmth. The delicate brush of forming callouses was nothing at all like the stifling, dry atmosphere around them.

Together, but mainly through the gentle pressure of palms and pads of forefingers, they tried and failed to secure the package, or any of the items trapped within the strange box. Their two attempts were even less successful than the previous ones he had observed. The only contact resulting from the effort was the sensation of leather pressing lightly against the thin fabric of Hanzo’s shirt, the occasional, temporary brush of brown hair against the top back of his head.

“Perhaps it is ‘_rigged_’, as you say” Hanzo suggested, and the others hands moved from his own. But he said nothing in response, and as Hanzo turned to face him he observed how the boy now watched inside the cabin, more intently than before. His brown eyes were almost as dark as his own, yet his pupils could be seen moving, tracking something despite the stillness in front of them.

Without warning Jesse popped another coin into the machine, straightening fully and moving in fluid, fast motions. The casual demeanor of his earlier attempts was gone, replaced instead by eyes that focused solely on their objective as he guided the claw in no uncertain terms, right above where the packet lay. He rotated it then, the first time Hanzo had seem him use the motion, and as it dropped the boy seemed prepared, clutching his thin culprit in the metal fingers and letting it spring back up towards the ceiling. It moved smoothly towards the exit most of the way before the boy suddenly jerked the controls forward for a few inches, and then backwards once, forwards again.

Perhaps it was as he said, because as the payload approached the chute the claw sprung open. But the boys jerking movements had compensated for this, and the well-timed momentum had flung it towards the chute once it was released, depositing the package for recovery.

Hanzo gasped, surprised by the result and impressed by the efforts put in to securing it. Pleased with himself, the taller boy bent to retrieve their prize, holding it out for his new companion to claim. He did so, more errant black strands of hair coming free from their loose hold and framing his face.

When he did look back up, it was in time to see a metal flask be pulled from inside the leather jacket, lid twisted off and held out to Hanzo as a second offering. “To targets. Good and bad”.

Hanzo did not understand, but it did not matter. From the folds of his skirt he had already produced a small gourd, and when their eyes met again his own grin was wicked. A cheeky secret shared between two strangers, tucked away in a strange corner of the world.

Yet their revelry was fleeting, and before either vessel met their owner’s mouths, a loud voice cut sternly through the crowd in the local tongue Hanzo was even less familiar with than English. But he understood that it carried purpose, and the taller boy immediately looked across to the speaker, lowering his flask demurely and responding in the same language, saying something that sounded good-humored if nothing else.

“Well, you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here” he said, reaching up to the top of the machine and retrieving a hat that Hanzo had failed to notice. He grinned at the barman as he tucked his hat under his arm, receiving a shake of the head and faint smile in response.

From inside the leather jacket he produced a small pouch, this one crafted from brown leather, and he gestured for the door. “Want to join me for a smoke?” he offered, and Hanzo’s response came only in the form of walking for the door, the larger boy following just behind. What the barman thought of this other habit Hanzo would not know, as he had decidedly turned his attention back away from the young pair.

Jesse pushed the door open, walking through far enough to hold it open for his companion, and only after they had both re-entered the cool desert night did he return his hat to his head, settling it back into a comfortable position. He gestured to the right, signalling intent of where he planned to take them, and when this was not met with protest he lead the way.

“Your hat is very ugly.”

Jesse grinned, reaching up to tip the brim of it slightly towards its insulter. “Hideous, ain’t it?” came his amused response. It fit his head well, but the brim seemed too wide for his person as it was. He smoothed out the brim where he had touched it, although it was unclear what purpose the action served.

They walked back to the gas station Hanzo had passed earlier, and from around the back accessed a set of stairs, which he followed the taller boy up. His longer legs seemed to carry him faster, and so as he reached the top Hanzo nimbly took the last few steps a couple at a time, catching up to him in smooth, swift movements.

Jesse led them around the front of the large billboard, taking a seat first against one of its pillars and setting his brown tobacco pouch down on his lap to retrieve its contents. The smaller boy sat beside him, folding his legs beneath him on top of themselves, coming to rest on his thighs. A stark contrast to Jesse’s slouch against the foundation behind him, one leg folded awkwardly beneath the other, which was bent lazily with his heel resting just before the ledge.

The boy seemed preoccupied by his pleated attire momentarily, running his fingers across where it lay on his thigh. Jesse watched him for a moment, curious as to his thoughts. But he was not in the habit of asking, and so he set to his promised task, crafting paper and tobacco into an object they could both enjoy.

By the time his cigarette was complete, his companion was staring across the landscape that the billboard had blocked. Deadlock Gorge was not fully visible at night, but the lights from the railroad and surrounding businesses were enough to cast shadows across some of the cliff face. A sight that Jesse found even more beautiful than when fully visible during the day, albeit haunting, morose.

It called for no commentary and so Jesse offered none, instead holding out the uneven roll of paper to his companion. As he placed it between thin lips a struck match followed, lighting it up for the boy before match and box joined their friends in the brown pouch.

Hanzo savoured the woody, smokey taste more than he considered it, holding it in his mouth before expelling smoke in to the atmosphere. His own personal contribution to the desert night. They passed the cigarette between them, back and forth, Hanzo’s spare hand remaining on his thigh, gaze across the gorge. Jesse’s larger frame positioned towards the gorge, but his gaze taking in only the other.

As a faint haze built around them, the smaller boy asked three questions about their surroundings. Jesse answered two, one with particular enthusiasm. After returning the rolled tobacco to it's creator, a smooth action far more delicate than was usually observed in these parts, his face was obscured by dark strands as he reached within what must have been hidden pockets. From these he withdrew a thin metal slab, considering it briefly before angling it towards the boy in the hat. “I took this from his body. What does the word mean?”.

Jesse snorted with laughter as he took in the item, jets of wood-turned-ash smoke jetting from his nostrils, ghosting over the steel balls of his piercing before dissapearing. “It means you killed one tough son of a gun” he trailed off, realising that the colloquialism may not translate well but caught in his own amusement. “Well he thought so, anyway”. 

The foreigner did not share his amusement. His eyes sought clarity, and once noticed were granted their explanation. “It’s not a word, but each letter stands for a word. Means ‘bad ass motherfucker’”.

This did nothing to enhance the boy’s opinion of the accessory in his hands, the metal piece with a loop on one side. He handed the item to the other, “an exchange. For your ‘target’”. An exchange that was accepted, with an uncertain yet amused smile.

Somewhere amongst the two-and-fro, one bent leg had come to brush against a folded thigh, and neither boy had deemed it necessary to separate them. Jesse had sat in such a position on many occasions. They were always fleeting moments, and while he had spent many evenings taking in the gorge with awe, the captivated expression of his companion was new. 

It was the most grounded Hanzo had felt during his time in the desert, this contact with the dark stranger. He had watched his face as he crafted, having placed the belt buckle into the pouch as his tools were removed, taking in his features more completely now that they were less obstructed. He seemed relaxed, like nothing could bother him too easily. Hanzo’s gaze returned to the cavernous expanse before them, and from this grounded place his mind wandered.

_‘He dies with his loyalty’._

_‘You honour your family on this day.’_

They shared a second cigarette in silence, Hanzo watching the gorge, and Jesse watching the boy. The neatly folded, well presented creature from another part of the world, seamlessly tucked in beside a child of the desert.

“If there’s somewhere you gotta be, I can give you a ride?” Jesse offered, responding to the distant look that had settled in. Which was successful in drawing him out of it, and after a moment of silence the offer was accepted.

The pair returned to the red chalk and hard earth. They walked with no urgency, the black-haired boy still taking in the desert and its habitant with genuine curiosity. On the back of his hoverbike, they journeyed just far enough out of the small not-quite-town that he could return to his people with minimal suspicion. 

The desert town was not so different to the other places he had seen, or the ones that he knew. Yet in a few ways, it was a world not at all like his own. It was not until Hanzo was gone that he realized, he had not wanted to leave.


	2. Cynoglossum amabile

Between two ledges, some pipe and a flimsy covering. That was where they found themselves. More specifically it was where he had positioned them both, and where he had obstinately kept them in the face of mild criticism. The overwatch position, albeit tailored for straight up eavesdropping.  
  
The division of the organisation had been a success on most fronts. One that allowed them a holistic approach to missions, without losing the confidence of the public or crushing the toes of the United Nations. But with such progress came the cost of doing business, which could not be negotiated or avoided.  
  
This was the most logical explanation for the dividing of what had once been such synergised ideas. Solid and infallible, veracious as a result of their union. Or perhaps, it had more to do with what remained of it, what had fallen aside along the way. These were thoughts that were acknowledged and carefully filed for later consideration by Gabriel Reyes.  
  
  
The subject of their watching could not be seen through the end of his binoculars, but the situation inferred all he needed to know for now. This stage of the mission was pure recon, surveillance and analysis by the Blackwatch crew for later rendezvous with Overwatch. “I see you” Gabriel mumbled, a statement which was true in a reality that increasingly felt like his alone. From the corner of his eye he saw Jesse freeze, thumb and forefinger most of the way to his mouth, cheeto held within an inch of its would-be destination. A brown iris slid to the corner of his eye, flooded with false promise of youthful innocence.  
  
  
He withheld a sigh, a skill he had not expected to be developing in the line of duty. “What lead you to believe this is an acceptable place for food?” he asked, irritability held at a low simmer as his eyes remained trained, indirectly, on their target. Years of practice and dedication had resulted in the ability to speak briefly without any visible movement of his mouth. The actions of the boy beside him had rendered that useless in their current predicament.  
  
“What makes you think this is food?” Jesse whispered in response, amused, words distorted due to the fuzz inside his mouth from the forbidden snack. But he did not reach for another. Within a few moments of silence he detected movement from the corner of his eye, aware that the boy was instead fidgeting with his hands, trimmed nails disrupting the flesh around them.  
  
Commander Reyes believed strongly in discipline. He had not ever been one to be harsh unfairly, but he understood the gravity of their work. The steadfast, unfaltering mentality that it required. Bringing snacks to a mission was completely unacceptable, especially recon, where revealing their position could have long reaching consequences for the remainder of the mission it served. No matter how well chosen their position was, could have, been.  
  
Yet Gabriel remembered the abject stress of nicotine leaving his system without replacement, the irritability and restlessness. The sharp, sudden beatings from his superiors as he struggled to both adapt to military life and rid his body of addiction. And so it came to be that he left the action and the sass without reprimand, for now. Focusing instead on their subject.  
  
  
“He’s three and a half metres away” the commander muttered, this time his mouth unmoving. Observing the actions of their subject’s companions in complete stillness. Something did not add up, despite their research – but this was, however, what they had been sent to investigate. Such tasks were not deemed in need of the skillsets possessed by the agents of Overwatch. Perhaps this was for the best. If you want the job done right, you send the best.  
  
This train of thought was interrupted as Gabe was pulled with a violent jolt from his thoughts. The visual glimpse of dull metal triggering his physiological reactions, whole seconds before he had consciously realised what was happening. He managed to hold the binoculars without falter, and from behind them recoiled enough to fully comprehend the situation.  
  
Tanned hands held a weapon they had assembled in stealth, additional components chosen, attached and readied for use. Gabriel could not have immediately explained how the boy had come to figure out to configure them together, given that no part was directly built to cohabitate with the other. But what perplexed him in this moment was why he had come to do so.  
  
  
_“No”_ he hissed, having no intention of his shock portraying through his voice but hearing traces of it nonetheless. His eyes returned to the binoculars, almost making it back before glancing sideways at the student and his assembled weapon once more, eventually regaining his vision of their work.  
  
After some seconds, quietly adding “that would’ve done it, though”.  
  
“Sí, jefe” Jesse replied, and was less stealth in his disassembly of the firearm, tucking the pieces carefully back in to the duffle bag tucked behind them with care. What had been most perturbing about the experience had been how calm the boy had looked while doing so. That such careful consideration, preparation and presumed utilisation of the weaponry carried out so serenely.  
  
  
Gabriel had researched the boy thoroughly when he had joined his outfit, knew of the things he knew, had done and could do. He had seen enough in his time to avoid the assumption that he knew everything that he was capable of. Yet Gabriel had considered himself a man by the time he was at complete ease with the thin line between life and death, the methodical ways of severing one or the other. Jesse had not long been of that age himself, and yet this grave understanding seemed to calm him at a time where his own body fought against itself. The Commander filed this line of thought along with the others, for what would surely be one long headache some future day.  
  
He passed the binoculars to Jesse wordlessly, maintaining his prone position as he slid his tablet out from beneath his chest. Propped up on his forearms as his fingertips subtly transcribed information he did not deem necessary to share with the young soldier. Blackwatch training indicated that he would listen in such circumstance, with his partner observing the situation. His training also dictated a single focus on one task at a time, and yet despite his attention to the tablet, Reyes fully expected the young soldier would remain acutely focused on his objective.  
  
  
Jesse was not at liberty enough to know all the details of their operation, and thus it had little personal interest to him. But he took his new position seriously, and thus committed his best work to Blackwatch in his time so far, body and mind. As it happened he was fundamentally different to just about everyone he knew within the organisation, yet aside from a few misunderstandings of military protocol, so different to the way he had operated beforehand, he was dedicating himself as best he knew how.  
  
He settled in to a practical position to carry out his present duty, repositioning his arms to support his weight unmoving as he observed. His first course of action was to locate the source of the measurement the commander had shared, navigating his way through attendant, to listener, to speaker. Without all the knowledge, he could not have known what they were watching. But figuring things out had always been of great interest to Jesse, and so he pieced the puzzles together in his mind. Where there were gaps, he made up a link to bridge the information, seeing where the line of information took him from there.  
  
So methodical was his mind that he did not fully comprehend the most important detail until a second glance. A neatly folded garment, sleek black hair framing a relaxed face marked by sharp features. Jesse had learned to remember faces in his line of work, but this was different entirely. This face registered on a level deeper than appearance alone, responded to with a brief sensation of vibration beneath his skin. The face of a person he had known so briefly in surroundings entirely unworthy of his presence. He had appeared suddenly in his world as a boy, and through the commander's binoculars he saw him once more, more closely resembling a man.  
  
It was seemingly irrelevant to their task, yet it gave Jesse a new set of variables to compute, fresh information to thread with his observations and theories. A new perspective that could not have been obtained through their reconnaissance alone.  
  
  
Reyes looked up from his tablet, still listening in to fragmented shards of information but checking in on Jesse. It was important to him that the newest addition to his team did not feel constantly surveyed, however the cheeto incident made it clear that their ideas of mission conduct were not always aligned yet.  
  
What he had not expected to see was a grin on his young face, the corners of thin lips reaching upwards for the binoculars, emphasising the triangular patch of hair beneath his mouth. He had seen him laugh as he made light of a vast range of events, smile politely at teammates and commanders alike. Once, a maniacal grin that read like a challenge, directly into the eyes of what many would view as an overwhelming threat. A grin that was in ways like the one he wore now, although where that similarity was Gabe could not have explained.  
  
He knew that adjusting to life as the organisations first ex-criminal would not be an easy path. His affable nature and undeniable work ethic had led to some team members beginning to warm to him, and his incredible knowledge and aptitude with vehicles and weaponry had made him an asset which effects could already be felt in both Overwatch and Blackwatch. But not everyone had allowed themselves to warm to him, something which did not seem to affect him, at least not outwardly.  
  
So regardless Jesse persevered, putting in honest effort to a job he had but little choice to resist. And here he lay behind the binoculars, grinning at the most basic of compliments, one of genuine remark. Was he so wholly rejected by the team that a few positive words from his commander were enough to lift his mood so visibly? Gabe considered that it may have been their developing comradery that brought him joy, perhaps different in nature to his relationships with superiors in the Deadlock Gang. Reyes dropped this line of thought entirely.  
  
Jesse watched, and calculated. His young mind pulling at strings that on the surface had no connection to the others, interweaving them in patterns of probability and possibility. He accepted the tablet as the commander passed it to him, failing to register the words that accompanied his action as he instead adjusted his position. Propping his weight and balance of the binoculars to his right arm and hard, negotiating the digital pad under his raised chest and tapping disjointed notes with his left hand.  
  
  
“You have changed sides.”  
  
  
Jesse had dedicated many hours to developing the skill of remaining calm in the face of abject shock. Yet regardless of this his body twitched visibly, clean brown hair somewhat softening the contact of his head on the thin surface above. He looked to his left, where Commander Reyes was no longer positioned. To his right, the boy with black hair now lay prone beside him, a look of satisfaction clear on his features. Jesse looked once more to his vacant left for good measure, and with this time lifted his right foot calmly behind him, hooking it around the duffle bag of weaponry before passing it through under his left leg.  
  
“Uhh… since just now?” Jesse attempted to clarify, no longer manipulating facts but instead processing the occurrences of the past few minutes, grappling to uncover the moments he had evidently not been present for. The look in the eyes of the other did nothing to facilitate this, clearly amused by catching Jesse off guard. He diverted his efforts instead to regaining his composure, beyond the slip he had already shown.  
  
“Your commander is safe. He is pursuing a lead. If I heard correctly, he told you to keep an eye on the situation?” was said in considered, careful English, sharp eyes watching him.  
  
“What might that situation be?”  
  
  
  


_The final virtue of the samurai was self-control. The sound nature of one's character from which a man could not be shaken. This formed the basis of Hanzo’s training with the thin blade, or what would eventually culminate in its use. It did not feel like elegance as it took the form of a bamboo pole, simulating none of the grace that came with the undeniable deadly nature of the blade. Nor did it feel virtuous in his hand, circular and heavy as he held it by his side in preparation._

  
  
  
For the first time since joining the Blackwatch squad, Jesse reached up and turned his communication earpiece to mute. It felt scandalous, but only in the sense that he had been directly instructed not to do so. On a moral level, Jesse felt no disturbance from the act. His commander was pursuing a lead without him, and beyond this the young footman did not further extrapolate the situation or its potential consequences.  
  
After all, he was the turned-criminal finding his way to the right path, one that had been offered and accepted. Once he stepped both feet firmly on to such a path of righteousness, folks would question why he had strayed again. His window of time for such an outcome was beginning to close, and Jesse had never been one to pass up on an opportunity.  
  
He had never learned Japanese in his brief time in school, or much of anything really, if he was honest with himself. But Commander Reyes had specific ideas as to what comprised valuable information for agents to hold, and so he had come to begin learning the basics of multiples languages. Among the first of these lessons had been foreign numerical characters and corresponding names – a fortuitous happenstance, given his current endeavour.  
  
  
The numbers he had been left with did not resemble coordinates, nor could Jesse extrapolate any way in which they could be rearranged or expanded to do so. The closest he came placed them somewhere near the lake, which seemed a high expectation of both his ability to travel and Reyes’ span of investigation. Considering both these observations, this riddle was more likely somewhere close to where they had met again.  
  
The commander’s thorough briefing of their recon area, combined with further input from Morrison, indicated a town with no highways, instead homing plenty of back alleys and secluded places for unadvertised businesses, be that to drum up prestige or secrecy. If the number did not indicate a street address, Jesse surmised it could be a hotel room.  
  
This left one final riddle – to leave a small cache of weaponry in the location deemed safest by his organisation, or take it with him to covertly meet with someone who had been in attendance of the meeting they had been here to observe? Without any further exploration of the topic, Jesse McCree slid out from his position in the cut out, the rim of his hat nestling back into clean hair and bag straps slung across his shoulders as he returned to the street.  
  
It was a short walk, during which time he listened to the environmental sounds around him, less predictable than the sounds through his earpiece would have been. He traversed via the back alleys, scoping out the security cameras with his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat, discerning which were real, two that were fake, and one that he was reasonably certain lead directly back to the Overwatch base in Switzerland. He took two extra turns to avoid this one, but mentally noted its presence in case he had already been viewed through its lens.  
  
The hotel security would be less easy to avoid entirely, and so he took less caution, putting less effort into obscuring his face. The room he sought was on the third floor which he reached via the stairs, standing out the front for the moment as he located the camera that would be viewing him here. Leaning against the door with a slight angle, back greeting the camera, he pretended to knock on the door whilst using the action to swiftly remove a thin object from the brim of his hat.  
  
  
The door was protected by a key swipe system. For all the glamour of the hotel chain, it was the same key swipe system that many other hotels used, and Jesse had come to study them before. While they were all somewhat different, he could discern the right spot to apply the necessary kind of pressure, and in no longer than it would have plausibly taken for somebody to come let him in, the door clicked. His hat brushed against the durable fabric of his pants as he entered the room, setting the bag down beside him by the door.  
  
Jesse didn’t really notice much of the interior of the room. It was of no interest to him, beyond plausible escape points, of which there were none beside the door. What he did notice was the pale figure in a pristine robe, perched by a small window. His reflexes were not as fast as Jesse’s it seemed, for he did not notice him at first, gently inhaling from a thin pipe, exhaling in controlled, elegant bursts of smoke through a thin open slit in the room’s window. It was part way through the second puff that he noticed Jesse close the door behind him, observing as he dropped the durable bag by the door, a thin smirk on his lips. “You could have knocked”.  
  
Jesse was pleased with himself for solving the riddle, albeit less so for the fact that he had not actually considered knocking.  
  
“Do you knock on many doors?”  
  
  
  


_Hanzo had embraced all the lessons expected of him, developed every new skill with a determined efficiency that was unfaltering over time. Yet the nature of his instruction had begun to change as he reached the age of young master. In the open space of the training room he stood, facing outwards across the bamboo panels, into the blossoming trees beyond them. He did not turn as he heard his instructor enter the dojo behind him._  
  
_Once he had turned to face him, he did not bow as his teacher bowed. At least not to the full extent as dictated by the fourth virtue he was bound to. He folded at the waist, yet his torso barely moved, an action he further disrupted by glancing upwards to see the reaction it provoked. Something he could not easily discern beyond brisk irritation._

  
  
  
Observing the shoes neatly placed beside each other beside the door, the opposite side to which he had deposited a small cache of weaponry, he moved to sit down on the armchair they were placed next to. He started working on unlacing his boots, a standard issue military combat boot that was far different to anything he was practically comfortable in, but had been set aside as a battle to fight another day. Perhaps on the path of good he had yet to move onto.  
  
As he did so, he watched his companion. He had huffed in response to his words, an unimpressed sounding laugh that sounded nothing of amusement as Jesse knew it. He stayed as he was for a moment, eventually setting aside his pipe on the small table beside the rooms large bed. As Jesse completed the task of taking off his shoes, placing them beside the clean sandals, the black-haired stranger rose, making his way closer to where the darker figure sat. “I have one hour”.  
  
“I have half that, if I’m lucky” Jesse replied, staying seated as he took in the being that approached him. He was beautiful, neatly presented but with sharp features. But it was his eyes that still stood out to him the most, a spark he saw beneath their surface. Perhaps the man with the pale flesh could see something similar, for as he changed the angle of his body to face his own, he countered– “then don’t waste it”.  
  
  
Setting his shoes beside the armchair, Jesse rose. The balls of his feet peeled from the polished wooden floorboards as he crossed the room, passed the smoking figure and into the bathroom, beside him. With his back to him he reached behind himself, unclasping two plastic and metal fasteners that kept his chest plate in place, a geometrical unit that may have deflected the bullet that undone the commander’s choice of location.  
  
Setting it down on the edge of an over-sized tub, he moved to turn the basin taps to warm, using one forearm to leverage dispenser soap into an open palm. Working a generous layer between each of his fingers. He watched his hands as he worked, ensuring all traces of the outsider world were dissolved by the soap, their suds removed by the water in turn. He did not look at his own reflection as he did so, yet a glimmer in the metal caught his eye, which raised to meet it.  
  
His companion had moved from his perch, watching him through the reflection with an expression that Jesse could not read. From the corner of his eye he caught his own expression, the edges of his lips tricked into what must have been his genuine smile. Jesse's hair had been shortened, just short of forcefully, regrowing back out in a neater line around his ears. The lobes were the last remaining site to host piercings, small hoops and chain surviving the mandatory removal by virtue of remaining hidden most of the time. Shutting off the faucet, he reached for the small towel beside him and completed his work, turning around to face his companion.  
  
  
  


_It was not the first time this had occurred. The tension increased each time. As they stepped forward, the thick rods rose to meet each other, attack and parry in even measure. It may not have appeared any differently to similar sessions from outward observation. The respectful movements of the teacher, fluid and graceful in a way that facilitated progress, prompted consideration. The eager retaliations of the student, existing in nothing but the moment._  
  
_It was not customary for a student to hold their teacher's eyes for so long, the unbroken gaze of the opponent not a sign of politeness, nor honour, but weakness. Hanzo did not feel weak. He felt energised, spurred forward, into each spar with an intensity he could not name. A pervasive heat that simmered with each thrust, every block. His instructor always broke the connection first, a second's gaze earning a second swipe. Setting the older swordsman off guard and resulting in a last-minute counter, their bodies unnaturally close as the corners of Hanzo's lips twitched._  
  
_It was not the second time this had occurred._

  
  
  
They stood before each other once more, Jesse indulging himself in the opportunity to take the smaller being in. His resting face was like a mask, but his eyes could not be muted. Jesse closed more of the distance between them, the back of the smaller man’s legs facing the side of the bed. As he moved close enough to feel the other man’s breath against the collar of his t-shirt, his eyes diverted to his lips, thin lines of soft flesh. Flanked by strands of black hair they parted, but where they may have reasonably readied for a kiss, this pair curled as if in a snarl.  
  
Meeting his eyes, Jesse’s forefingers moved to gently brush aside dark strands from the other’s temple, not looking away. Locked in their gaze his opposing hand rose, and with a certain grip Jesse’s thumb and forefingers clasped the front of his neck, fingers digging into thick strands of muscle.  
  
Eliciting a sharp, soft gasp from the other he smirked, eyes locked, seizing the opportunity to move him backwards. It required no further force, Jesse raising one knee and then the other on to the mattress, his companions body both manoeuvring and melting into position beneath him. While not physically required to keep the other where he lay, his dominant hand remained firm around his neck, thumb nestled against his jawbone. Resting back on his haunches, straddling the smaller man he broke their gaze, free hand roaming the silken covered expanse of his left side, over his ribcage and through the side of his waist.  
  
The other’s arms and hands fell by his side, splayed out as if rendered helpless by the grip. Yet his body moved as it was touched, ribcage rising to separate from his abdomen as fingers trailed across delicate cartilage and bone.  
  
  
A thumb hooked beneath stiff silken fabric, craving to feel what lay beneath but only finding a taste of the answer. A gravelled noise was born and died in his throat, and upon hearing it he reached up to instead hook his thumb into the cotton collar of his white shirt, feeling his own ribcage separating as he pulled the garment over his head to be dropped silently to the carpet.  
  
Jesse had been spending increased time in the weight room, both for mandatory training and of his own accord. In the absence of his bike he had opted to take up running instead, but the endurance laps did not feel as rewarding as this stretch did, anchored knees allowing for networks of connector muscles to be stretched languidly in the movement.  
  
Perhaps the boy beneath him noticed this, as when he looked back down his eyes were on what white cotton had kept hidden. In turn, capitalising either on now free to move or that he was not being observed doing so, the pale one slid from beneath him, moving to be seated at the edge of the bed and searching through something beside it, outside of Jesse’s vision.  
  
  
He returned by turning back around, half facing Jesse as he handed him two items. His initial look was determined, but when the tanned fingers clasped the items his eyes diverted downwards, almost demurely. While he could not read the characters on the packets, their shape and texture gave the contents away, the foil gifts making both contents and intentions clear.  
  
His thumb explored their contents through their protective shells, observing the language that he could not read, wondering as to what kind of translation they might yield and knowing he would not soon find out. Because of this distraction, he did not notice the movement beside him until it was complete, something that perhaps seemed intentional.  
  
His companion had shed his robe in one fluid movement, letting it fall off one shoulder, the other and then off the side of the bed to the floor. Underneath was his person exclusively, pale flesh no longer covered, except for a dark tattoo that formed part of his chest and left shoulder. Suddenly losing interest in the unreadable packets, Jesse placed them further inland on the mattress and pivoted to take in his form more completely, right hand slowly moving across the cold flesh of his waist, exploring the expanse of small back behind it.  
  
  
He supposed these rooms were furnished for tourists of a different kind to them, or at least he hoped that explained the absurdly large number of pillows. As his hand explored his body followed, dark abdomen meeting pale thigh, dark thigh resting between pale counterparts. As his fingers moved upwards they directed his attention towards the partial tattoo, shades of blue and grey in solid and fluid shapes.  
  
Upon closer viewing, it appeared less like a tattoo and more closely resembled carbon fibre, some alien combination of the two. Geometric rivulets expanding across the developing curves of the shoulder muscle, not distinctly man or machine. He raised his fingers to feel it beneath them, but withdrew them back to the familiarity of flesh before making contact. Where bare skin ended and tattoo began, it appeared that one was devouring the other, as if it were being consumed in its path.  
  
Of all the confronting discoveries he had made with his face, this would not be the one immediately approached with the appropriate gravity by Jesse McCree.  
  
Neither boy spoke in words, yet as the pads of Jesse’ fingertips trailed the softer flesh of the others lower abdomen their eyes met again. Such quiet was not something Jesse was accustomed too, this peculiar mixture of serene and strange. Yet he was too fascinated by the beautiful specimen beneath him, laid out under his fingertips, and the limited time afforded to them in this turn of chance.  
  
The other must have shared a similar sentiment, as slender hands reached for Jesse’s pants, fingers barely hooking beneath the band and snapping back outside again. A warning shot, more so than an attempt to disrobe him himself. Jesse took the hint, unlatching his standard issued belt and pants, standing up from the side of the bed only enough to pull them over his ass, his underwear following.  
  
Entirely more naked than he had anticipated on getting during the day of staking out, Jesse returned to the other being. One knee rising and falling to rest on the other side of his torso, watching in wait from his supported position on the pillows. Jesse slid one hand beneath his thigh, leaning down at an ungraceful angle to press honoured lips to the inside of his thigh, looking up with an unplanned grin.  
  
  
The other's flesh was cold, something he came to realise as a warm hand moved across the expanse of soft flesh usually tucked in beneath pelvis and inner thigh. He reached forward and took the other's chin in the cusp of his hand, two fingers ghosting over thin lips and gaining entrance inside without hesitation. Brown eyes rose to meet him then, surprised despite the general oddity of their situation. His curled tongue sucked on the outer edges of freshly clean digits, legs sinking further into the mattress beneath him, splaying further apart. Their eyes did not break contact, and with a slight curl of his index finger along the centre of the willing tongue Jesse withdrew his hand, reaching down for the items set aside instead.  
  
  
He reclaimed and considered the metallic packets a final time, viewing them each in turn for a moment before setting them on his bare leg, using one and then the other. There was no show in the movements, only his tasks and their execution. First, the fluid package was torn in one considered yet ceremonial movement, depositing clear gel that was then distributed between his fingers and the pad of his thumb. He looked back up, finding the sharp eyes to still be training on his movements, and maintaining this contact he moved forward, rolling over his knees to settle above the other. The other's legs angling upwards as he rolled back, onto the balls of his hips in turn.  
  
  
Their eyes locked. Inspired by the eager glint around the edge of dark irises, the edge of his teeth pulled a piece of the flesh of his own lower lip between them as one finger moved inside the other, released from their sharp prison at the soft gasp that rose between them. A smile followed this, to be replaced by a pleased smirk, watching eagerly as the movements of his finger, two fingers elicited slight bodily shifts and sweet sounds. He had already prepared his second task in anticipation. While his dominant hand continued to enjoy the benefits of his first task, removing the contents from the pre-torn packet.  
  
His eyes diverted to line up the action, seeing it through only as far as required to ensure its continued success before looking back to the body beneath his. Reclaiming eye contact as he expanded and contracted the length of one finger, a low hum accompanying the smile as he watched a squirmed reaction unfold. It was no ballet, was the crudest comparison Jesse's mind provided him with at the time, processes nearing what felt like overload at the thought of their situation alone, let along the expanse of pale flesh beneath him. Cool in all areas he had felt, with one notable exception. This warmth was not matched by his eyes as the hand was withdrawn, retreating to instead deposit the lubricant that had pooled in the cusp of his hand, redistributing it along his waiting shaft.  
  
  
It took some time to achieve in a way that was not unduly painful for either of them, following on from the preparation he had been watched throughout. It seemed a wise investment from their available time, and as a low sound reverberated through Jesse's voice box, sounding as if it were pulled through gravel in molasses, he accepted the time as worth it.  
  
Their eyes met, tanned flesh forming a delicate but firm grip around pale thighs. The tops of his thighs rolled into hip sockets, a slow movement that was met with a subtle readjustment, his companion stretching his back in a small languid movement to curve more over the back of the cushions behind him. The feeling was incredible, something that moved throughout his system. Taking root in a deep cavern and spreading like vines, moving through his limbs to his muscles, beyond his flesh and into his senses. He had not thought of the other in this manner, during a time where it wasn't a consideration he would generally have made of others. But here he felt electric around him, with him. A set of pale fingers digging in to his wrist, noticing the others dug lightly into the fabric beneath them.  
  
  
It was a place he had no intention of leaving, the underlying processes in his mind subdued by the rolling thunder of desire, occasional sharp tacks of pleasurable static in his veins. Regardless of the diminishing time available to them both, his eyes caught the rolling motion of the other's head against the pillows. Lithe body held carefully in place despite sinking into the fabric, but vocal sounds never surpassing their original timbre, indicating little more than contentment.  
  
Hands moving from thigh to ass cheek, his fingers dug into the flesh, leaning down to press his lips against the expose neck beneath him. The sudden pressure added to the angle eliciting a surprised moan, a noise that drew out with increased pitch in confusion as the larger body withdrew. His retreating form watched with disdained eyes as he moved to stand beside the bed.  
  
A sharp breath was drawn beneath his teeth, as he removed the tight latex from the appendage that had been enduring it under protest. Managing to suppress most of the noise as he did. He also tried to suppress the feeling of being watched, a feeling that demanded _'what are you doing?'_ through the silence as he moved back to the bathroom, disposing of the item he had been gifted.  
  
  
  


_It was Hanzo who yielded the parry first, pushing the lock of tension back and downwards, forcing the makeshift weapons from the space between them, without taking any further action to close it. The other boy was taller, older and yet the air felt as if it were his to mould. Their opposite shoulder's facing as he glanced downwards, breathing laborious, from the physical and mental dances in turn. "Do not show me mercy" he eventually said in their native tongue, arms pushing back against a tension that felt to be no closer to resolution. _  
  
_When the silence was not broken by anything more than breathing he looked back up, aware that no single muscle in his face was relaxed. He saw what he sought for only a moment, one slip in the other’s mask he had come to know over months. When it fell, what he saw resembled only pain. For a moment he knew pain too, and yet the heat within him felt no cooler._  
  
_Until his teacher stepped back from him, the correct amount of space between them being reinstated in on delicate yet sudden movement. It was then he looked back up to him, the mask in his own flesh settling back into position as he regarded Hanzo, one fleeting strand of recognition severed as he folded his calves beneath him, lowering himself to the floor and bowing completely._  
  
_It took most of Hanzo's concentration to steady what felt like incoming tremors beneath his skin, the threat of violent earth breaking across this form that felt increasingly like it was betraying him. Reaching out for something that would not return its touch. With the exchange complete, his instructor left the practice weapon lying across where his head had rested, resuming his posture and grace before exiting the dojo as he had come. Hanzo knew without question that he had learned everything the man would teach him._

  
  
  
With his back turned he reclaimed his pants, furrowing through pockets until clasping what he sought. He turned back to face his partner, holding a small package closely resembling the one he had discarded. This one he tore open more readily, claiming the item with hunger and watching downwards as he rolled it over his flesh. Immediately the item felt less as if it were cutting in to the engorged muscle, and with the hint of an unexpected smirk looked back up to meet his partners eyes.  
  
Wilder than they were before. The first hint of a wicked smile coercing his mouth.  
  
Jesse felt himself more relaxed, more appropriately accommodated by their protection now that he was more properly equipped. This comfort seemed to continue to extend to his partner, who despite having visibly peaked in interest at the sight before him, remained splayed over the generous pillows, poised though his body was held. With open posture, he crossed the floor between them. He reached down once he made it to the edge of the bed, darker hand clasping around the circumference of a slender ankle, dragging him by the muscles of his lower calf to the edge of the mattress. A breath was heard in the air and his own smirk widened, spurred on by the sound as he reached around the young man's hips. Delicate curve of his waist pressing into forearms as he lifted him from the bed, turning his body while still in the air and depositing him onto the carpeted floor, watching as knees and hands pressed into the pile.  
  
His own knees dragged against the soft flooring as he positioned himself behind smooth flesh, the front of his thigh flush with the back of another, foot flush with the ground beside their bodies. “You’re a bad boy” he told the back of a cool neck, through misplaced hair. This time, they both groaned as they were reunited. “Bad boys don’t get fucked on their beds.”  
  
The other body was more responsive this time, hands digging in to the carpet and shoulders braced, developing muscles tensing against each other in drawn on rippled movements. It was entrancing to watch, for the fleeting seconds before Jesse's eyes fell closed. Mouth open as he lost himself in the movement, a rhythm that fell in to being between them. The body beneath him cried out, a mixture of pleasure and discomfort, an audible cue he took to place both hands on thin hips, a physical barrier put in place to stop himself from getting carried away in his lost movements.  
  
Although he had prevented himself from hurting the other he had pushed himself beyond a point he could return from, recognising his own beating heart and building heat. Moving one hand to the small of the other's back, he put the remainder of his focus into slowing his movements, no longer being able to control the wrangled cry that broke free from the depths of his throat. With enough time to spare, he slowly pulled back from the other and took covered flesh into his hand, other hand remaining on pale skin a deep shudder wracked his body, his head briefly resting against the others side before his body slumped against the side of the bed.  
  
  
In the moment that passed he felt only bliss, deep breaths pulsating as blood redistributed through his body. Returning to awareness as the cycled air cooled the sweat on his naked body. This realisation did not hit him as sharply as fierce eyes, however, suddenly aware of the slender being of intensity on the floor beside him. He had returned to his haunches in a mixture of fury and distress, sizing Jesse up in what could have been disappointment before reaching for the gown he had surreptitiously disposed of earlier. It was in this movement that Jesse reached out to grasp him again, sudden and sure actions a stark contrast to the tired being he had been only seconds earlier. He took him by the waist again, sliding him up the side of the bed and back onto the mattress until his knees and legs hung from the side.  
  
  
Positioning himself between him with arms around thigh and calf in turn, Jesse took him into his mouth, tongue curling around his engorged head as the flesh of his mouth lay pressure along the length of his shaft. At the sharp gasp drawn from him he looked up, eyes finding their match only briefly before the others rolled back, his body slumping into the mattress with a satisfied groan. Smirking self-indulgently to himself, he slowly made his way lower, finding the flesh that had stolen the boy's warmth and delighting in its taste, slowly dragging his lips back upwards so the soft under flesh teased the ridges and valleys of vein and skin, conforming to the outline of the head and tip before beginning the ritual again.  
  
For someone who had been so silent moments earlier, sounds increasingly escaped his mouth as if beyond his control now. Fabric being pulled beneath Jesse's chest as it was manipulated by the others frantic hands. As calf and thigh wrapped around his neck he tightened his own grip, steadying himself as the other let go, steadying them both so he could do so freely.  
  
Jesse watched it unfold before him, and when silence and stillness came he slowly removed his appendage from his mouth, thumb brushing the corner of his lips in one movement and being cleaned off between them. The other had looked up prior to this, but for witnessing this head fell back to the mattress, strange tattoo rising and falling as his own turn to return to normal commenced, reflecting shimmers of light from above them in diminishing frequencies.  
  
  
With what was regrettably not the last of his energy, Jesse pulled himself up and over the side of the mattress, laying curled and naked beside the other figure. A lazy grin had formed in his features, and after a moment of breathing he reached out, feeling the length of an arm with the toughening flesh of his fingers. After a brief period of stillness the other being moved, delicately rolling on his side to look over at the other, their eyes meeting in the quiet.  
  
Although he did not want to leave, Jesse knew his time had come. Rolling his head to the side and pressing one last kiss to the soft flesh he found beside his waist. Rising with a contented groan as he made for the shower, indulging in the briefest of rinses before redressing. The other did not move from the mattress as he retied his chest plate, returned to the chair to renter his standard issue boots or reclaim his bag.  
  
"Safe travels" Jesse said from the door, indulging in one last look before he was through the door, placing his hat back on his head once in the corridor once more. He felt entirely too good to comprehend how wholly incomplete his farewell had been. He heard nothing in response, but had not expected to do so.  
  
  
It had not been a day for expectations, after all.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Any feedback is welcome.


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